Lex was sitting, very drunk, maudlin drunk, over a desk by a painting. He considered the art, thick brush strokes spreading the oil over the thin canvas. They looked thick enough to feel. Because he could, he traced the surprisingly rough dry paint grooves. Close up, one could see the beautiful irregularities in paint color. Pain was a tangible thing, if you looked closely enough.

He heard the footsteps from somewhere down the hall and turned his head fractionally. Light filtered in gradually revealing his face. The room was quite dark, otherwise. Deep green sofas surrounded the high shelves full of books. A small reading lamp was turned on over by a desk and a museum light managed to light the painting he currently had his fingers on without lighting anything else. Lex watched Clark's eyes take in the Mondrian chaos of little multicolor pills on the black lacquer table next to him. Oh yes, pills. He'd forgotten about the pills. They were yellow. He didn't think yellow went well with black lacquer. They were both shiny, but the black was a different- "How many of those did you take, Lex?"
Silly boy was interrupting his thoughts. Yellow, black, green. Hands grabbed at his head. Ouch. Touching his head right now was not a good idea. "Lex. How. Many. Did. You. Take?"
"One." He was pretty sure it was only one. Should take another one, wasn't that the saying? Take two and call me in the morning. Oh, but he shouldn't call, shouldn't call.

Clark was all wide eyes and frustrated looks. He expected him to swear any minute now.
"Fuck, Lex."
Hmm. Well, that was an idea. Which held unsurprisingly little appeal right now. He was so stoned he didn't think he could get it up if his father marched in and demanded... Well. That image certainly demanded a laugh. It sounds funny when it comes out though.

"Lex?" He has obviously reduced this boy's vocabulary to one word. Ah, but he looks more worried now. "Clark". He word is oddly cracked when it passes by his dry lips. Dry. Alcohol. Dries the mouth. It wasn't so dry earlier. It was wet. Then crusty dry and oh God. Dad. Dad is god? Religion is slightly too much to handle right now. He wondered why the hell he uses a word like Dad to describe a man like Lionel and somewhere a memory gets knocked loose of calling him Lionel to his face, and being told to "Please call me Dad to the fucking cameras." Lex licks the scar on his lower lip.

And oh god he's crying. Tears that feel cold on his cheeks as they slide down so slowly. Arms hold his shoulders. Oh. Oh. That feels good. And he melts into Clark. He's sliding off the chair, but Clark has him. Seems to be carrying him. The next thing he feels is soft covers under his skin. Bed. Sticky darkness looms large over him. He submits, not entirely voluntarily.

The air feels cool when Lex opens his eyes. The world is sharp and clear the second he opens his eyes, and amnesia is absent. The room is solid gray, and the second thing he notices is Clark, watching him from a chair across the room. Clark is wearing an expression he'd never seen on his face before. Insecure and anxious, he's sure. It's difficult to be fifteen and play babysitter. Oh fuck. Babysitter. Drugs. He shuts his eyes, hard. The night is too real now. He sits up. His head HURTS.
"Clark." And who has the limited vocabulary now? "Are you okay?"
"Yes. I'll be fine. You should go home." The object, of course, is to make Clark feel like an idiot for being so worried, get him angry, and have him leave. So he can go wallow in his miserable headache and stupidity. Of course, Clark's worry wasn't stupid. Not really. He allows himself a moment of belated fear.

Wide, hurt green eyes meet his. Ow. "Lex." The limited vocabulary syndrome reasserts itself. A hand reaches out to touch his head, he flinches back instinctively, but the hand continues, gently, so gently stroking the skin above his temple. Not pain, but hypersensitive awareness so close to pain. The cool fingers feel good when they stop moving. Eyes that can't hide much look away from his.
"I was worried about you."
He tempers his answer. Gently, he places a hand on Clark's shoulder. "I'm alright Clark." "Don't do anything like that again, please?" Lex looks back up at Clark. Realizes belatedly that the hand on his head is still there, stroking slightly again, driving him insane, distracting him just enough that the kiss is a surprise. Gentle kiss, and then Clark pulls back, slightly. He expects it to end there, with an embarrassed farm boy running for the exit. But Clark leans in again and there's a tongue, not as gently demanding entry. And he thinks he's going to let it. The kiss is desperation, and something darker, maybe. He expected Clark to taste like apples, somehow and he doesn't. Not nearly as innocent. Warm, soft mouth now finding a path down his neck. So gentle. So much not like.. And he drags Clark's mouth back to his, devouring. Beauty. The soft curls in Clark's hair feel like paint swirls. Smooth ones, framing his Raphealite face. And then he feels damp and can't figure out why. Wet paint. And there should have been a warning sign not to touch the world because it's blurring under his gaze now. The warm weight in his arms is simple, and right. Clark doesn't seem to mind that Lex melted him. Warm hands wipe some of the wet paint from his cheek.
"Lex?"
Worried boy next to him. He really ought to explain this. But he can't. And the world keeps blurring as he clings to Clark. He thinks Clark might be the only thing keeping him solid right now.

Despite the pounding in his head, Lex was hard against Clark's - Clark's thigh. The air seemed somehow more liquid than usual, it was hard to breathe. Clark pulled away briefly from his lips and felt his breath on his lips as he struggled to get enough air. Clark had him pressed back into the mattress. Carefully he arched his back and gasped. Clark chose that moment to scrape his teeth down Lex's throat. Lex slid his hand under Clark's shirt, feeling warm smooth skin. Clark pulled away to take off his shirt. Lex got the hint and unbuttoned his just enough so that he could slip it over his head. Gently, Clark lowered himself back on Lex. The heat of their chests together made Clark gasp. The kiss wasn't like the previous ones. It was long, and deep, and hot. Lex could feel Clark fumbling at his pants button. He looked up at Clark's eyes. Nervous green eyes looked back at him. "Is this okay?" he whispered, looking down at Lex. Briefly, he wondered what Clark saw on his face.
"Yes Clark. It's... fuck it's good." And Clark had evidently figured out his pants button because his fingers were brushing over his cock, and he needed Clark's mouth, there was no oxygen without it.

And oh god Clark was pulling off his jeans, and the sight of the denim passing over those slim hips might be the most erotic thing he'd ever seen in his life. He pressed his hand where they'd been and pulled Clark tighter against him and gasped. Clark gave a quick thrust against him, and oh god, Clark's cock was pressing against him. He rubbed his fingers against Clark's oversensitized nipples and heard a sharp gasp as Clark claimed his mouth again, nibbling on his lip. He moved a hand down to Clark's ass and pressed him against his cock. His throat felt hoarse, and belatedly, he realized he's screamed. Clark kept thrusting against him this time, and he met him thrust for thrust. He felt him bite down on his shoulder as he came shuddering, a warm heavy body shivering against him. One more thrust against his suddenly slick stomach and the ceiling went black. He felt his heart beat once, twice, and then he sucked in a breath as he came.

Gasping, he saw Clark's sweat slicked head appear above him. His lover. His savior. And he was Lazarus returned again. Clark rolled them over on their sides, both gasping for breath. He wasn't sure when the tears began rolling down his cheeks again, but he rolled himself into Clark's chest. He held him, rubbing his back gently. "Lex?" he asked, sounding rather worried.

"It's okay Clark." Which wasn't quite a lie. And Clark kissed his head gently as he held him, and he thought maybe it would be okay. If he could just lay here a long, long time away from his father. Away from Clark's father. Just Clark and him, with Clark murmuring in his ear and stroking his back while LexLex sobbed like he was something broken.
It wouldn't last until morning.
And then he'd take a long shower, call his secretary, tell her to send Lionel a large basket of lilies. Put on a suit and go to work.
And not wince when the first person called him Mr. Luthor.